Dancing Between Chairs
by TheLastLynx
Summary: What to do when you're caught sitting between chairs? You dance your way out of it. After all, there are always friends to help you maintain balance. [Angst. Pregnant!Hermione. Background Draco/Hermione. Friendship Harry & Hermione. One-Shot.]


**A/N: This is another one-shot which grew out of a tumblr drabble ask. The prompt was: "Does he know about the baby?" Again, this wasn't beta'ed; it was more of a writing exercise...**

* * *

 **Dancing Between Chairs**

 _ **by TheLastLynx**_

 _ **for Felgia Starr**_

* * *

Hermione was sitting in the Ministry cafeteria. She was completely absorbed by the dance her mug was performing: Twisting and twirling, moving from one hand to the other, gliding across the wooden surface like a primaballerina.

A chair scraped noisily over the floor. On the other side of the cafeteria table mug dance materialised Harry – raven-haired and bespectacled as usual; but behind them his eyes were almost melting, his brows furrowed.

''S that a waltz?' he asked after a moment.

Hermione continued to stare transfixed on the twirling.

'It's a quickstep, actually.'

'Ah,' said Harry, with a frown. 'Seems, umm, like a lovely dance.'

They both watched on as the twirling continued. Faster and faster spun the mug, its creosote content almost leaping over the edges. Suddenly–after a particularly dramatic twist– it tipped, and black tea sloshed all over the table, mug spiralling to a halt. Just in time, Harry jumped out of the way, knocking over his chair in the process.

Hermione continued to stare, eyes fixed on the stained surface.

With a casual flick of his wand, Harry vanished the remnants of the tea mug table twist. He sat back down.

'Shame about the tea.'

Hermione shrugged noncommittally.

'Look, Hermione. I know I'm no good at this, but–' he sighed deeply, and considered his friend, 'you clearly need to talk about what's bothering you.'

Hermione remained silent and picked up the cup.

'It can't be that bad, can it?'

Finally, she looked up. Deep, dark circles framed her eyes.

'I'm pregnant.'

'You– _wh–_ but that's _wonderful_ news, isn't it? You're _pregnant_!' Robes swirling, Harry almost jumped over the table to embrace his friend – the friend, who seemed less than thrilled by what was usually considered the happiest of news. Her frozen limbs had Harry quickly retract his arms. He leaned against the table and considered her thoughtfully.

Hermione's eyes and hands moved back to the tea cup.

'Um, what did Malfoy say?'

The mug was once again quickstepping across the table.

'Does he know about the baby?'

The dancing stopped. The hands released the mug, and the palms wandered to press flat against the surface.

'No,' she said in a small voice, 'and I'm at a loss of how to tell him.' Her fingers twitched, nails scraping against wood.

'By Merlin's beard, why ever not? He will be thrilled!'

Her nails curled. 'Well… Draco might,' she hesitated, 'but his parents certainly won't.' Harry made to interject, but now that the damn was broken, all the pent-up worries flowed out of her.

'He fights with them all the time because of me. "The Mudblood's not good enough for you, Draco."' Harry make a jerking movement, but Hermione continued. '"Every young man is entitled to _some_ foolishness, Draco, but hasn't _this_ gone on long enough?" "Think of your obligation towards you family, Draco!" "It's high time you chose a _proper_ bride, Draco."'

Hermione looked up into Harry's face, openly reflecting all the hurt and indignance on behalf of his friend.

'I just didn't want to put him on the spot. Never have.' A single tear escaped and slowly danced across her cheek to drip off her chin. Hermione raised a hand to wipe away the glistening traces. 'Draco deserves better than to constantly stand between chairs.'

The quickstep continued.

The sensation of Harry's gentle hand suddenly on her shoulder startled her. His emerald eyes were sparkling with all the steadfast resolve and kindness she was so familiar with; resolve and kindness that had, above all, won a war.

'Look, Hermione. I don't know him all that well,' he said softy. 'But there's one thing I am willing to bet my Firebolt on: Draco Malfoy would sell his soul to be with you.'

Hermione couldn't suppress the hiccups forcing their way out of her throat.

'I'm sure of it, Hermione; really, I am.' His hands stroked up and down her back. The hiccups were slowly fading. 'And, as you know, my instincts are _always_ right – after all,' and now his lips quirked up, 'I've got an Order of Merlin First Class to prove it.'

Unwittingly, the hiccups transformed into a chuckle, and Hermione playfully smacked Harry who was grinning like a fool.

He was right; of course he was. Harry had a sixth sense for all sorts of nonsense. Most importantly though, whatever the outcome of this… predicament… she would _always_ have Harry to turn to.

All of a sudden, Hermione had the sudden urge to run to Draco, to share the news with him.

A new strength had formed her resolve. The resounding confidence that she would never have to quickstep on her own.


End file.
